Diagnoses and Deep Thoughts

Let’s start this off with a bit of backstory, shall we?

When I was in junior high, I was very depressed. Eighth grade was the darkest period of my entire life (until now). I was bullied, picked on, and tormented for most of sixth, seventh, and the beginning of eighth grade, and I think those cruel words and actions pretty much defined my life for the following years. I was one of the “nerds” before being a nerd was cool like it is now. I wore big glasses and used to get in trouble for reading too much, which was pretty much social suicide back then. But seventh grade was when it really started to get bad.

I started seventh grade at Hutchison Junior High with the majority of my elementary classmates. (Including my now-husband, who was tormented even more than I was.) Frankly, it was the seventh circle of hell. I remember being bullied so much on the school bus that my mom eventually started driving me back and forth to school, to spare me from it. I got shoved into lockers, tripped in the cafeteria while carrying my food, teased in class, and had an endless cycle of less-than-flattering rumors constantly circulating about me (including one that said I wasn’t potty-trained and had to wear adult diapers underneath my jeans. I can’t make this shit up). One girl in particular threatened to kick my ass on a daily basis. Her name was Daisy and she had been held back two years in a row. She was like, fifteen and still in seventh grade. She would walk by my desk in the class we shared and hiss threats at me, or slam notes on my desk that were full of explicit details of my impending demise.

Eventually, it got so bad at Hutch that my mom transferred me to Ousley Junior High, where a handful of my more privileged ex-classmates attended. My poor husband, however, was stuck at Hutch, where he lived in misery until high school started. Life at Ousley, was better, but not by much. I was still bullied. I remember the first time I got my period, I was so terrified to go to school that I was sick to my stomach. And sure enough, one of my classmates in my math class got ahold of my little bag of “girly items” and started throwing them back and forth with his boorish buddies and laughing. The following night, after my parents went to bed, I swallowed half a bottle of Tylenol.

I survived, obviously.I was the sickest I’ve ever been in my life, but I survived. My parents didn’t even know what I had done. But that wasn’t my first attempt to take my own life. About a year later, when I was deep in the trenches of my goth phase, I used an X-acto knife to cut my wrist. Thank goodness I had no idea what I was doing, because while it was definitely a fairly deep wound, I missed all major veins. That scar is actually covered up now, by my first tattoo.

To make a long story short, I’ve been dealing with this crap for years and years now. It hasn’t really been too bad for the most part, but recently it’s reared it’s ugly head with a vengeance. I had a bad episode back in December that landed me in the hospital, and again last week. This most recent incident started off with me being handcuffed and tossed into the back of a police car and ended with me spending 30 hours in a psych unit (which was a level of depravity that I’ve never seen before). I was officially diagnosed with chronic depression and episodic mood disorder, and given an anti-depression/anti-anxiety prescription.

It’s a little hard to talk so candidly about my demons. I’m not one to go blabbing about “poor me, poor me” and hoping that I get sympathy, but my doc told me that it’s actually helpful to talk about it. I’ve been keeping all this nonsense inside for over ten years, and that’s not healthy. I want other people who may be suffering to know that it DOES get better, and the pain will subside. It’ll never go away completely, but it will take a backburner if you take the necessary steps to keep yourself well. At this point, I’m taking it one day at a time and learning to not hate myself; which is hard every day, but getting easier.

Til next time.


Once they’re gone…..

Disclaimer: This post is going to be sad, morose, and self-loathing.

My kids have been gone since the beginning of June. I offered (very graciously) to let my ex-husband have them for the first half of the summer, and I would have them for the second half. I *actually* thought that we were finally to the point where we could be cordial to one another, and we wouldn’t have to fight over every single aspect of our kids’ lives. I really thought that he was finally past the resentment and the hatred that he has towards me, and that this summer thing would proceed without any hiccups.

Boy, was I wrong.

The kids’ summer vacation is 80 days long, from start to finish. Half of that is 40 days. I texted him this morning asking what time we should meet to exchange the kids this Friday. He immediately responded saying that 45 days is a month and a half, and that’s what we agreed on, and 45 days ends this Sunday (which is actually wrong, 45 days ends on Saturday. The man works with calculus every day at his job and he can’t freakin’ count 45 days. But I digress.). Long story short, he threatened to take me to court because I insisted that he meet me on Friday, and he flat-out refused. He says they have “plans for stuff” this weekend, and that’s why he’ll meet me on Sunday.

*deep breath*

I am so sick and tired of him taking advantage of me. I’m sick and tired of constantly rearranging my life to accommodate his, only to have him shit on me in the end. I’m sick of him using his money and his (shitty) lawyer against me. He is bound and determined to make my life as hard as he possibly can, using any opportunity to do so. At this point, I think he’s going to continue to do it until the day he dies. I don’t think he’s ever going to get over me leaving him. He’s going to hate me and screw me over forever. He got remarried in June, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would finally move past our failed marriage and our divorce. I thought he would accept what happened and get on with his new life…..which obviously, isn’t the case. I’ve clearly moved on and gotten the hell over it…..he needs to also. We’re both remarried, we both have separate lives….and he is STILL trying to ruin mine.

I miss my kids SO much. At least my ex-husband’s new wife is a decent, thoughtful, level-headed woman (how the f*ck he managed to land her is beyond my comprehension. He’s a VERY good liar and manipulator). She constantly sends me pictures of the kids and updates on how they’re doing. But, at this point, I miss them so much that my heart feels like its shattered and lying in a pile of rubble inside my chest. I never really realized how much of my life they occupy, and how much  time I actually spend with them. It gets monotonous, after a while, and I kind of develop blinders to our everyday life.. But once they’re gone, and their rooms are empty and the house is silent, it is glaringly obvious. The only consolation that I have right now is knowing that this is the last week that I’m going to be this lonely. They’re coming home in six days.

In less depressing news, I have two FOs. The first is a stuffed animal I knit at the request of my adorable nephew. He wanted a “red and light blue dinosaur”. The result is this.


The pattern is Basil the Boogie-Woogie Brontosaurus, by Rebecca Danger….who is one of my favorite people on the planet. All of her patterns are so well-written and so easy to follow, and this one is no different. I knit this bad boy in eight days, and had him stuffed and smiling in time to give him to my nephew when he came to spend the weekend with me. He affectionately named him Ranger, and according to my sister, he carries him everywhere. Never lets the thing out of his site. I used Knit Picks Brava Worsted in “Sky” and “Red”. Brava seriously is my go-to acrylic worsted weight yarn. It’s fantastic.

I also managed to crank out a pair of fingerless mitts.


I am OBSESSED with these babies. The pattern is Octo Mitts by SpillyJane. There was two options available, either full-on mittens or fingerless mitts; obviously, I chose the latter. They were super-addicting to knit….the colorwork is beautiful and was SO fun. Of course, using Knit Picks Stroll Brights helped fuel the addiction….the neon colors are stunning. I had them finished in two weeks, christened them my Neon Octopi Mitts, and lovingly tucked them away until the first hint of cold weather.

‘Til next time.



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